Free The Crowded Shadows by Celine Kiernan Page B

expedient. You of all
…”
There was no sound for a moment. Then Razi spoke again, his voice very broken. “You of all people should know
that
. Oh God! Simon and his men… and poor Shuqayr! How can…? Chris, I can never make up for this.”
    Wynter wanted Christopher to come outside. She wanted to tell him to leave Razi be, to let the poor man suffer in private. She opened her mouth to call him, but Christopher obviously knew Razi just as well as she did because he said, “Wynter and I are just outside, all right? Call through if you want us.”
    The door of the bathhouse creaked. Wynter could see Christopher’s hand on the latch. He began to pull the door open, but then hesitated and turned back. “I know I don’t have to say it to you, Razi. You’re no bloody fool; but it weren’t you that killed Shuqayr, and you didn’t cut De Rochelle’s throat or kill his men, neither. And, Raz, I know we don’t ever talk about it, but what that landlord said? It doesn’t signify between us. You didn’t steal my hands from me, Razi, and it weren’t your place to sacrifice a kingdom for the sake of revenge. I ain’t never held it against you, and you shouldn’t go trotting down tired old roads now, just because you’re heartsick and weary.”
    Wynter listened for Razi’s response, but there was utter silence from the bathhouse.
    “Take as long as you want in there now,” said Christopher. “They can always heat more water if it gets cold.” He stepped out and closed the door. He stood for a moment, gazing unseeingly at the rough wood planking, then he came across and sat on the grass beside Wynter.
    He slouched back against the wall. Wynter leaned against him. She slipped her arm through his and took his hand. They gazed out into the orchard.
    “I’m so sorry about your dad,” he said at last.
    She nodded.
    “He was
…”
    She tightened her grip on his hand. “Please, Christopher. I can’t.”
    Christopher shook his head suddenly and his face drew down as though he were about to cry. Wynter tilted her head against his shoulder, turning her cheek into the fabric of his tunic. After a moment he kissed her hair.
    “I’m just sorry, lass,” he said hoarsely. “I want you to know.”
    She put her free hand on his chest and they sat like that, comforting each other in silence. Gradually the sound of gentle splashing from the bathhouse told them that Razi had decided to wash himself.
    “They played football with that boy’s head,” whispered Christopher. “They thought he was Razi. They thought he was
Razi
and they did
that
to him.”
    Wynter continued to stare out into the golden hazy afternoon, willing Christopher not to say any more. She suspected where this conversation was going and had no desire to follow it to its natural conclusion.
    “It wasn’t the King that did this, was it, girly? He
wants
Razi on the throne.”
    “It could have been anyone,” she whispered quickly. “The people hate Razi. They
hate
him, and now they think he killed my father. Any peasant could have done this.”
    “A peasant wily enough to poison the water supply of a group of knights? To get the better of a man like Simon De Rochelle?”
    “They think Razi murdered my
dad
,” she insisted. “The people loved my—”
    Christopher cut across her, his voice flat and certain. “I will
kill
Alberon, if it turns out to have been him.” Wynter groaned and tried to pull her hand from his, but Christopher tightened his grip and turned to look her in the face. His eyes shocked her, how bright and hard they were. “If it turns out that Alberon ordered his brother dragged to his death, and had a football made of his head,
I will kill him
. Whether Razi wants me to or not.”
    Wynter took a breath and clenched her free hand over their joined fists. “You will not have to do that, Christopher. I know Alberon would never hurt Razi. I
know
it. So you will never have to do that.”
    “But if I do?”
    Wynter blinked. He was